Thursday, 26 July 1877

The masseur came again this morning at eight o'clock; it appears to be a genuine sprain, just like Gaston's.
I do everything in fits and starts; today I drew all day long — to rest my eyes I played the mandolin, then drawing again, then the piano. There is nothing in the world like art, whatever kind it be, at the beginning as at the moment of its greatest development. One forgets everything, thinking only of what one is doing; one regards these contours, these shadows, with respect, with tenderness; one creates — one feels almost great.
After that one does not even notice the fourteen Florentines lying on the mantelpiece.
Rémy came, and while he was still there I received a visit from Paul Poiré, physics master at the Lycée Fontanes.
It is Fauvel, his cousin, who sent him to me. Monsieur Poiré may be able to advise me on choosing a professor or student whom I could charge with a task — that is, a kind of chronological catalogue of known authors from the beginning of the world, with a historical table with which we shall establish correspondences. I explain myself badly here, but it is very ingenious. Fauvel was quite astonished yesterday when I asked him for someone for such a thing.
Poiré smiled with great respect, and Rémy, the moment Poiré left, gave himself up to all his rapture; he stayed two hours and we talked of geology. Rémy is, as you know, a very serious young man; he was telling me very learned things while I drew.
And after that! Ah! well, after that, I was bored.
No matter what one does, one needs an hour in the course of the day for easy talk if one wants to be happy. One must see someone, if only to speak about what one has done, to be blamed, approved, encouraged. Without that, everything goes to the devil.
I am afraid of ruining my eyes and have not read in the evening for three days. Lately I have begun to see everything blurred at the distance from the carriage to the pavement — which is not very far.
This alarms me — if, after losing my voice, I were to be forced to give up drawing and reading as well.
Then I shall not complain, because that would mean that in all my other troubles there is no one to blame — and that such is the Will of God.
[One line cancelled]
The masseur Joseph is a curious character — a sort of half-soldier, half-bourgeois, sly and talkative. I told him that Monsieur Gaston de Larderei was in need of his services and that I would speak to him about it.
After all, a sprain is a diversion, like all interesting illnesses. As for interesting and clean illnesses, I admit only:
- migraine,
- any dislocation, sprain, arms or legs wrenched or broken, etc.,
- fever, even typhoid,
- dry throat ailments — but never chest complaints!

Notes

Lycée Fontanes: a Parisian lycée (now Lycée Condorcet), located on the right bank; Poiré was a cousin of the voice doctor Fauvel.
Marie's emphatic "never chest complaints!" (jamais de poitrine!) is tragic in hindsight: she died of tuberculosis in 1884, aged twenty-five.